


tough luck

by cupofkey



Series: drabble requests [5]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Drabble, F/F, First Meetings, Guitars, Magic, Nyotalia, One Shot, Urban Fantasy, lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:21:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,147
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25211590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cupofkey/pseuds/cupofkey
Summary: It's a late night in the city, and Chiara is incredibly lost. That is, until she hears the guitar.
Relationships: Female South Italy/Spain (Hetalia), South Italy/Spain (Hetalia)
Series: drabble requests [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1822141
Comments: 4
Kudos: 26





	tough luck

**Author's Note:**

> [here's my tumblr!](https://cupofkey.tumblr.com) request something if you'd like, I love writing these and will write just about anything sfw. this was a bit out of my comfort zone but please enjoy :)

“Luck spell, my ass,” Chiara mutters, feeling the first drops of rain start to splash down on her head and shoulders. “As if Marzia could cast a spell to save her life.”

Maybe she’s being a little too critical of her sister— maybe she’s being a little too truthful, really. After all, she’s currently getting drenched, it’s the middle of the night, and her phone is dead.

Oh, and she’s completely lost.

_ It wasn’t your fault, _ some idiotic part of her chirps.  _ It wasn’t your fault, really, it was just an unlucky turn of events. _

Exactly the opposite of what she was asking for, but alright. Chiara quickens her pace, rain starting to seep into her jacket and pants, running rivulets down her face.

_ I just need to find somewhere to wait it out until I can get home, I need—  _

Someone’s playing the guitar.

Chiara stops.

Something shifts. Any thoughts about what she might need or want evaporate instantly— any coherent thoughts, really, until there’s nothing left in her but the brisk steps she takes, the set of her eyes toward the source of that sound.

She rounds a corner. The only source of light is from what looks like a cafe, squeezed between two aging shopfronts, a tiny bulb dangling over a cramped patio. 

Someone is sitting in one of the chairs, guitar in hand. The music is—

_ Beautiful. Delicately played, passionately sung by the instrument, impossibly alluring. Indescribable. Infinite. _

Chiara can’t move her feet or any other part of her, plastered to the ground by the rain and the music, staring unblinking at the woman plucking out gentle melodies and harmonies in front of her with what seems like an unbreakable focus.

_ I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. I can’t. _

_ Nothing makes sense. She’s so beautiful, I think I’m going to die. I think I’m going to die. I feel like I’m dying right now. I can’t even say what she looks like, I can’t even describe, I— _

_ Oh, God, I really think I’m dying— _

Her heart is thundering in her chest, beating through the pattering rain. The stranger’s music continues, and so Chiara finds herself inching closer, one aching step at a time. Her heart feels like it’ll literally beat out of her chest. Everything is trembling uncontrollably— everything is uncontrollable—

_ Wait. _

_ I’m being charmed. _

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she spits, jolting back into the real world, where the rain is soaking through her and the stranger’s guitar suddenly falls silent.

“Huh?” says the stranger.

_ She’s still…  _

_ Gorgeous. Wait. What? _

“You,” Chiara says, striding closer, “were charming me. With your damn guitar. Have any idea how fucked up that is?”

They stare at each other, and then the stranger  _ laughs. _

“Oh! I’m sorry, I wasn't expecting visitors,” she says, grinning brilliantly, still entirely too magnetic.

“It’s  _ illegal _ ,” Chiara snarls. “Charming people is illegal.”

“Ah, yeah! Sorry about that.” Another grin, another chuckle. “It is pretty late, after all. I’m just impressed you managed to, you know, snap out of it.”

_ I’m impressed. _ It sticks entirely too much to Chiara’s thoughts, to her shivering self, closing up her throat for no reason at all.

_ God, this is so ridiculous. This is insanity. Why do I even care—  _

_ Hell, why am I still here? _

“Well, you look like you should sit down,” the woman chirps.

Chiara clenches her teeth, her fists, a torrent of rage already boiling up in her— then she stares into that stranger’s eyes, green and piercing— and the guitar reflects that yellowish light from the bulb, glowing golden in the dark street, inlaid accents glimmering silver and bronze.

_ I… _

_ Dammit, I’m freezing. I probably should sit down. _

“Fine,” she grumbles.

The stranger pulls out a chair with a smile, setting it right across from hers, and the moment Chiara sits down it’s like she’s blasted with a wave of warmth, like there’s a blowdryer in her face. Keeping her head level is nearly impossible— 

_ Too much magic. Way too fucking much. Who is this woman? _

“What the hell,” she grits out, “are you doing.”

The stranger sets her guitar against the door, turning back with a sheepish grin. “Oh, you know…”

“No?”

“Ah, uh. Practicing my magic? You look cold? I feel bad, er…” She scratches her cheek, still smiling awkwardly, her voice shifting. “I’m sorry, really, I’m a little new to the whole magic thing. Don’t really have a handle on it yet. I just found this guitar so I started experimenting, and it’s…”

“It’s not the guitar,” Chiara cuts in. “You’re just really fucking strong.”

“Ha. Uh, yeah—” The woman recoils, leaning forward again with a touch of surprise across her eyes. “Wait. What?”

Chiara snorts. “You heard me. I know it when I feel it. You’d be better off getting a tutor of some kind, or even applying to an academy.”

“Oh, huh. An academy?” The words sound like they’ve never been in her mouth before.

_ Seriously— what? _

“What’s your name,” Chiara finally says. “Last name, too, who’s your family?”

“I’m, ah,” the woman says, shrugging, “well, I’m a nobody, really. Isabel Fernandez Carriedo. And you?”

_ Shit. I’ve never heard of a Fernandez, or a Carriedo. What the hell. _

“Chiara Vargas,” she slowly says. “And are you serious. Your family isn’t involved in the magical circles? At all?”

“Nope! The opposite, really,” Isabel chuckles. “By the way, your name is really pretty, you know that?”

_ Oh, for god’s sake. She’s not charming me right now, is she? She’s not. She’s definitely not. I would be able to feel it. _

_ So why am I… _

“Sure,” Chiara says, trying to keep the quiver out of her voice, trying to keep her pulse under control. “Look, I just need to borrow a phone. I’m really fucking lost right now.”

“Oh, right!” Isabel says, reaching into her pocket and handing over a battered smartphone without a single spot of hesitation. “Of course. No problem, here you go, call whoever you need to. I was wondering why you were out here, actually…”

“None of your business,” Chiara immediately blurts, quickly dialing Marzia’s number.

And then—

Well, she feels kind of shitty for acting so annoying, and she feels kind of terrified of Isabel Fernandez Carriedo and her bright eyes and her sublime guitar playing, and the words that come out of her mouth feel like someone else’s:

“Uh, you should,” she says, “you should call me sometime. My family runs the, uh, one of the academies. I could probably connect you to a tutor, or something. If you want to.”

Isabel’s whole face opens up, her mouth falling open and her eyes shining so much they’re a little hard to look at—

“Hello?” Marzia’s voice chimes over the phone.

“It’s me,” Chiara says, preparing for an onslaught of questions, only one thought on her mind:

_ Maybe that luck spell worked after all. _


End file.
